FRANCIS GROSE a Brief Homage and Some Fragments
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FRANCIS GROSE – a brief homage and some fragments
Tony Thorne has emulated Francis Grose in researching his own dictionary of slang (published in London by A&C Black) ‘in the field’, or more precisely in the streets, in clubs and pubs, in prisons, football stadiums, on campus and in school playgrounds. He is working on a life of his illustrious predecessor.
Grose, known - if he is known at all today - for his pioneering work on Slang, the Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, was one of the very small band of writers and cultural commentators to explore and celebrate popular culture in Britain before the second half of the Twentieth Century. A kind of alternative Dr Johnson, Captain Grose, who died in Dublin in 1791, was an essayist, an antiquarian, wit and man-about-town. His most abiding talent, though, was to seek out the roisterers and the ne’er-do-wells, the cardsharps, cutpurses, highwaymen and low-lifers of Hogarthian London, and listen to their repartee. In an age when both the nascent middle-classes and the aristocracy lived in terror of a French-style revolution, it was courageous as well as unprecedented to turn a scholarly gaze upon the language and habits of the gutter.
Grose, a grotesquely obese, dwarfish figure, and a champion drinker was known and loved for his geniality and wit by some of the greatest in the land. Robert Burns met and admired him, celebrating him in verse and epigram. The Captain lampooned the rich and powerful and steadfastly shunned their favours, squandering his own inheritance on high living, thereafter surviving on his pay as a militia officer and sporadic income from his writings. He was many things in one and all before his time; a style journalist and recorder of social foibles, a critic and practitioner of drawing and caricature, a travel writer, military historian and antiquarian. But of all his works, his picturesque glossary of the argot of London – the first real ‘underground’ dictionary of its kind, gathered as all such collections must be, on the streets themselves –is perhaps his most lasting legacy, and the work closest in spirit to our own fascination with the popular and the transgressive…
Francis Grose and His World: select quotations by and about the Captain
...our language being at least as copious as the French, and as capable of the witty equivoque; besides which, the freedom of thought and speech, arising from, and privileged by our constitution, gives a force and poignancy to the expressions of our common people, not to be found under arbitrary governments, where the ebullitions of vulgar wit are checked by the fear of the bastinado, or of a lodging during pleasure in some gaol or castle...
- F.G., preface to A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue
To prevent any charge of immorality being brought against this work, the Editor begs leave to observe, that when an indelicate or immodest word has obtruded itself for explanation, he has endeavoured to get rid of it in the most decent manner possible; and more have been admitted but such as either could not be left out without rendering the work incomplete, or in some measure compensate by their wit for the trespass committed on decorum. Indeed, respecting this matter, he can with great truth make the same defence that Falstaff ludicrously urges on behalf of one engaged in rebellion, viz. that he did not seek them, but that, like rebellion in the case instanced, they lay in his way and he found them.
- F.G., preface to A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue
My only account books are my hip-pockets: into that on the right hand I put what I receive; from the left-hand pocket, I disburse.
- F.G.
I am, and indeed have been for near a year, tied fast by the leg, to the drudgery of the Drill, endeavouring to teach a parcel of awkward and vicious boobies their right hands from their left, without being able to steal one hour for the pencil.
- F.G.
If there's a hole in a'your coats,
I rede you tent it:
A chiel's amang you, taking notes,
And, faith, he'll prent it.
- Burns, On Captain Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland
If in your bounds ye chance to light
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight,
O' stature short, but genius bright,
That's he, mark weel...
But wad you see him in his glee,
For meikle glee and fun has he,
Then set him down, and twa or three
Guid fellows wi' him:
And port, O port! shine thou a wee,
And then ye'll see him!
- Burns, On Captain Grose's Peregrinations through Scotland
Is he slain by Highlan' bodies,
And eaten like a wether-haggis?
- Burns, Ken Ye ought o' Captain Grose?
The devil got notice that Grose was a-dying,
So whip!at the summons, old Satan came flying:
But when he approached where poor Francis lay moaning,
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning,
Astonish'd, confounded, cry'd Satan: "By God,
I'll want'im ere I take such a damnable load!"
- Burns, Epigram
'the greatest antiquary, joker and porter-drinker of his day'
- John Camden Hotten
'He was extremely fond of taking his porter of an evening at the King's arms, in Holborn, nearly opposite Newton Street, a house distinguished for the company of wits, men of talent...Here the Captain was the hero of the tale.'
- Pierce Egan
'Batch [Grose's servant and henchman] and his master used frequently to start at midnight from the King's Arms, in search of adventures. The back slums of St Giles were explored again and again; and the Captain and Batch made themselves as affable and jolly as the rest of the motley crew among the beggars, cadgers, thieves, etc. who at that time infested the 'Holy Land' [The St Giles District of East-Central London]. The 'Scout-Kens' [watch-houses], too, were often visited by them, on the lookout for a bit of fun; and the dirty 'smoke-pipes' in Turnmill Street did not spoil the Captain's taste in his search after character. Neither were the rough squad at St Kitt's and the 'sailor-boys cap'ring a-shore' at Saltpetre Bank, forgotten in their nightly strolls...It was from these nocturnal sallies, and the slang expressions that continually assailed his ears, that Captain Grose was first induced to compile A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue.'
- Pierce Egan
'Grose, to a stranger, might have been supposed not a surname, but one selected as significant of his figure: which was more of the form of Sancho Panza than Falstaff; he partook greatly of the properties of both. He was as low, squat and rotund as the former, and not less a sloven; equalled him too in his love of sleep, and nearly so in his proverbs. In his wit he was a Falstaff. He was a butt for other men to shoot at, but it always rebounded with a double force. He could eat with Sancho and drink with the Knight.'
- The Reverend Mark Noble
Now *****, like bright Phoebus, is sunk into rest,
Society droops for the loss of his jest;
Antiquarian debates, unoccasion'd with mirth,
To genius and learning will never give birth.
Then wake, brother member, our friend from his sleep,
Lest Apollo should frown, and Bacchus should weep.
- caption to a likeness of the sleeping Grose
I am, and ever have been, the idlest fellow living, even before I had acquired the load of adventitious matter which at present stuffs my doublet.
- F.G.
Naturally cheerful himself, he flashed merriment around him; nor did his sallies of pleasantry or poignant humour ever give pain, for they were not excited either by the mental or physical defects of his auditors. Associating with the ornaments of literature, he abounded in literary anecdote; and having read extensively and observed narrowly, he edified while he exhilarated.
- Joseph Walker, obituary in the Dublin Chronicle
He's judged, as artist, to inherit
No small degree of Hogarth's spirit;
Whether he draws from London air,
The Cit, swift driving in his chair,
O'erturned with precious surloin's load,
And frightened Madam in the road,
While to their darling ville they haste,
So fine in asiatic taste;
Or bastard sworn to simple loon,
Or sects that dance to Satan's tune
Restless besides, he loves to roam,
And when he seems most fix'd at home,
Grows quickly tir'd and breaks his tether,
And scours away in spite of weather;
Perhaps by sudden start to France,
Or else to Ireland take a dance,
Or schemes for Italy pursues,
Or seeks in England other views.
- Anonymous, The Gentleman's Magazine
I had drawn out a fair copy of Tristram Shandy's famous dedication, and left a blank for the name of some great man of my own acquaintance; but the deuce of one could I find that knew whether my book was the history of Guy Earl of Warwick or Jack the Giant-Killer. Homer, says the first, was not he a blind fiddler? I'm sure I've seen his bust somewhere. Hector? says another, Who the devil was Hector? The history of England says Harry the Eighth was a damn'd hectoring fellow, and so was Oliver Cromwell; which of them do you mean? Achilles, says a third, why, that's a French man of war; of what use, pray, could that be in a land fight? Upon this I made a reverend bow, and retiring backwards in profound admiration of their extensive learning, I tumbled heels over head down the first flight of stairs.
- F.G.
Our author is of the opinion that the dignity of the Greek language has perverted the original design of Homers' Iliad; and that the elegant translation of Mr Pope has now fix'd it a serious heroic poem for ever, but he is certain, Homer's intent was to burlesque his gods. goddesses and heroes: a literal translation of their speech plainly shows, that they called one another rogue, rascal, and son of a bitch, very cordially; and the goddesses talk'd pretty much in the style of our Covent Garden goddesses...
- F.G., Publisher's address to The Reader
Good people, would you know the reason
I write at this unlucky season,
When the whole nation is so poor,
That few can keep above one whore,
Except court-pimps and their employers,
With secretary's clerks and lawyers,
Whose d****d unconscionable fees
Maintain as many as they please...
My works are for the laughing tribe,
And I expect they'll all subscribe;
To those brisk souls I mean to shew,
That full four thousand years ago
Some men were knaves, and some were bullies,
And some were asses, fools and cullies:
As for the women, some miscarried;
By turning whores before they married,
Others, more fly in their amours,
Got married first, and then turn'd whores.
- F.G.
The Grumbler
containing Sixteen Essays
By the late Francis Grose, Esq. F.A.S.
of London and Perth
I. The Author's account of himself
II. On the improper application, and the ludicrous effect, of certain names
III. The vanity of funerals
IV. Different significations attached to the same words and expressions
V. On the irrational pursuits of Virtu
VI. Public nuisances of the metropolis
VII. Contrast betwen the tradesmen of the present and former times
VIII. Frequency of perjury, occasioned by the laws
IX. On the trade of begging
X. On the common errors in the education of children
XI. Sketch of some worn-out characters of the last age
XII. Complaint of a wife at her husband's rage for antiquities
XIII. Of the academies for young gentlemen and ladies
XIV. Sketch of a modern connoisseur
XV. On the distresses sustained from misplaced and overstrained civility
XVI. On the inconveniences and mortifications to which persons, too delicate and dainty in their food, are liable
The make of my person is not a little calculated to produce discontent; for though my body contains as many cubic inches of flesh as would form a personable man, these are so particularly distributed, that my circumference is nearly double my height.
With reference to politics, I am a staunch Opposition-man and Grumbletonian, having neither place, contract, nor pension; bred to no trade or profession, I have occasionally been the humble companion of men in power; but my merits and abilities have been overlooked by them all...
...Lastly, to complete the catalogue of the means of souring my temper, after twenty years close attendance on the humours of a peevish old maiden aunt (a kind of Lady Bountiful) and during that time patiently listening to the roll of her former admirers and the good offers she has refused, taking all the nostrums in her recipe-book for different disorders, swallowing her jellies and custards till ready to burst, suffering the impertinence of her favourite maid, being repeatedly bitten by her lap-dog, pinched by her parrot, and scratched by her cat - all this in hope of becomeing her heir - she has, in the sixty-ninth year of her age, thrown herself into the arms of Mr Dermot O'Flannagan, a Patagonian quarter-master of an Irish regiment of horse...
...Having, from these and various circumstances, acquired a habit of grumbling on all occasions, and having neither wife, children, nieces or dependants, the comon objects on whom these acrimonious particles are usually discharged, I have by degrees grumbled away all my acquaintances, except one old deaf lady...
- F.G., 'The Author's account of himself'
The rage for fine names is incredible. Among the middle and lower orders of tradesmen, we find few Joans, Hannahs, Sarahs, Rachaels, or Elizabeths - but Anna-Marias, Charlotte-Matildas, Eliza-Sophias, and such other romantic and royal appellations fill the parson's baptismal registers and lists of the little boarding-schools about Stoke Newington, Hoxton and Islington, where young ladies of that rank receive the rudiments of their education. High-flown names of this kind sound ludicrously, when directed to perform the ordinary household drudgery. It would be next to impossible to refrain from smiling, on hearing Clarissa ordered to wind up the jack, and Catherine-Ann-Maria to empty the ash-tub, or fetch a pail of water...
...George, Alexander, Guy, Sampson and Orlando, are exceedingly good military names, and convey the idea of fighting men, but savour too much of assault and battery to appear to advantage in a court of law...
- F.G. ' On the improper application, and the ludicrous effect, of certain names'
...morning, noon, and evening, mean very differently from different persons, and in different places. I remember formerly having received an appointment to wait upon a noble Lord the next morning, for want of duly considering his Lordship's rank and amusements, I went at ten o'clock; but after knocking full half an hour, was convinced by a slip-shod footman, that morning would not commence in that house till some hours after the sun had passed the meridian.
- F.G. ' Different significations attached to the same words and expressions'
Once, when his wife miscarried of a son and heir, he derived great comfort from bottling the foetus of the young Squire...And not long ago, his wife, being [again] with child, was terribly frightened by a pinch from a lobster, carelessly left in a basket
- F.G ' On the irrational pursuits of Virtu'
Thus a cowardly soldier, a deaf musician, a bandy-legged dancing-master, a corpulent or gouty running-footman, an antiquated fop or coquet, a methodist in a brothel, a drunken justice making a riot, or a taylor on a managed [trained thoroughbred] horse, are all ludicrous objects; and if the methodist has his pocket picked, or is stripped, the justice is drawn with a broken head, and the taylor appears just falling off into the kennel [gutter], we consider it as a kind of poetical justice, or due punishment, for their acting out of their proper spheres...
...Nothing affords greater scope for ludicrous representations than the universal rage with which particular fashions of dress are followed by persons of all ranks, ages, sizes, and makes, without the least attention to their figures or stations...
...national jokes, as an Irishman on horseback, carrying a heavy portmanteau on his head, to ease his horse of his weight; a Welchman with his goat, leek, hay-boots, and long pedigree; a Scotchman with his scrubbing-post, and a meagre Frenchman in his laced jacket and bag, having long ruffles to his sleeves, without a shirt.
- F.G., Rules for Drawing Caricatures with an Essay on Comic Painting
...formerly, in countries remote from the metropolis, or which had no immediate intercourse with it, before news-papers and stage-coaches had imported scepticism, and made every plowman and thresher a politician and free-thinker, ghosts, fairies and witches, with bloody murders, committed by tinkers, formed a pricipal part of moral conversation, in all large assemblies, and particularly those in Christmas holydays, during the burning of the yule-block.
'England is the paradise of women, hell of horses, and purgatory of servants'